


Uncharted: Inexplicably In Space

by thegrumblingirl



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Genre Twist, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Genre Savvy, Science Fiction, This Is STUPID, Tropes, Video Game Mechanics, it's absolutely bananas and none of it is ever explained
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 05:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18462062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: When Nate gets knocked out in a fight and then finds himself in space, with no explanation and even less common sense, he's not sure if he's in a coma, on drugs, or dead, but one thing he does know:he has to get out. But how?





	Uncharted: Inexplicably In Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, basically, let us blame countermeasures for making puppy eyes at me after I sent her [THIS TWEET](https://twitter.com/dancasey/status/1116744314506207232) and said to her, "what if Nate finds himself in space and no-one explains a thing." And let us also blame Resri for watching [ISN'T IT ROMANTIC](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2452244/) with me and making me think about genre tropes and formula. There was only one thing for me to do: dance, puppet, dance! And so, the monkey writes.
> 
> This first chapter is just the setup, next time is when it all starts going bonkers.

It always started the same. Watching. Waiting. Smoke from Sully’s cigar getting in his eyes because he kept forgetting to crouch somewhere _upwind_ and still out of sight. But then, waist-high walls came in ones, not threes — and this one had holes.

“The guards are moving,” Elena whispered from beside him — his and Sully’s cue.

That morning, they’d sat over what passed for breakfast in a run-down hotel room, Elena spreading out the floor plans and Sully marking entrances and exits on a map of the grounds.

“Alright, the McClintock house. How are we going to do this?” Sully had asked, looking at Nate as though he practically had the keys already. Nate never tired of his own ability to find a way inside places _somehow_ , and he knew Sully hadn’t, either, even with the age of Nate being skinny and tiny enough to squeeze through floor vents long being past. Besides, that had been one time. Maybe twice.

The house was big, with huge grounds, and well guarded. McClintock employed more personal security than most zoos did keepers; and they were all packing heat. Nate didn’t like to carry, no matter how often he inevitably ended up shooting at either things or people. He was past asking why it always happened to him and instead did his best to shoot straight. Today, he hoped they’d get in and out of the mansion without making too much of a mess — they just wanted the treasure map. No-one had to know they were ever even here. The map they were after wasn’t even any of McClintock’s most prized possessions: it wouldn’t be on display, wouldn’t be missed. It was just a tiny part of an island near New Guinea, barely bigger than a city.

And on top of that, McClintock was an asshole. Nate was always happy to steal things from a guy like that.

The plan was for him and Sully to move first, Elena bringing up the rear and keeping an eye on the guards, to warn them before they stumbled into a trap — it allowed them to move faster, even accounting for Elena having to move to catch up in between cover. This way, they got close to the house, slipping in through the gaps in the guards’ patrol paths. Once they had leveraged open a carelessly unlocked window on the first floor, they were inside.

Now, in a tight cluster, they snuck through the dark hallways of this part of the house, their objective the third floor and the map room. The _map room_. Nate scoffed, quietly, through his teeth. Pretentious prick — why couldn’t he just throw everything into boxes and those boxes into an attic, to be rifled through in a hurry when looking for anything and only knowing, vaguely, that it had to be ‘somewhere over there’ with all the other stuff from El Dorado. El goddamn Dorado… Nate still held in a sigh whenever he thought of it. They’d found it, and all they had to show for it was… not even a lousy t-shirt.

He was about to round a corner when a hand clamped down on his arm and held him back. Behind him, Elena put a finger to her lips. Nate stilled, and now that he was paying attention, he heard it, too: raised voices from behind one of the doors down the next corridor.

“I don’t give a shit how much convincing that old broad needs, I want her husband’s collection!” McClintock.

“His widow is as broke as he was, all he left her was his gambling debts because he refused to sell before he died,” another voice argued, a man with a grating Boston accent. “She’s putting everything up for auction, and every collector in the world knows she’s desperate, no matter what the entire collection might be worth. She’s lucky if she breaks even.”

“How much was her husband worth?”

“Hundred-fifty grand.”

“Offer her a hundred. She’ll take it. For _everything_. And if she doesn’t take the deal, there’s always the hard way. Remind her of that.”

“Yes, sir.” Boston sounded resigned, but obviously didn’t have enough of a spine to protest.

Double asshole, Nate thought vindictively. Perhaps he’d have to leave here tonight with more than just a map. Something more of a… personal statement.

Still, all this left them with one problem: McClintock wasn’t supposed to be here tonight. Behind him, Elena and Sully had worked open a door, and now pulled him inside. They didn’t dare turn on the lights, but there was enough moonlight filtering in through the curtains to let them see that this had to be one of McClintock’s collection rooms. The walls were covered in paintings, portraits and landscapes, and Nate’s head started to hurt from how badly arranged it was. There was no story, no cohesion in styles or period or school, it was just—

“Nate.” Elena’s voice held that tone it did when he wasn’t paying attention. It did worryingly often. Nate wasn’t an inattentive boyfriend! Please. “ _Nate_.” God, he hoped he wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “All we gotta do is be even more quiet, get upstairs, get into the map room, and get out.”

“What about the widow?”

“What do you want us to do? Outbid him? With what?”

“There has to be something we can do.”

“Now, sweetheart, Nate is right: we ain’t the A-Team,” Sully said, raising his hands when Elena’s angry look turned on him. “We’re thieves, not con men.”

Elena tilted her head.

“Alright, fine, _sometimes_ , but we’re sure as hell no Ocean’s Eleven. We’re only three, for starters.”

“We have to at least warn her.”

“And we’re gonna,” Nate promised. “But now we gotta—”

“Hold on,” a voice sounded from just outside the room, “this door shouldn’t be unlocked.” Before they even had a chance to move, to hide, the door swung open. Shit.

“Intruders! East wing, first floor, portrait room. Three unknowns. Situation contained, requesting back-up,” the guard barked into his radio, and then raised his gun. “Hands up where I can see them, no-one moves or I’ll shoot.”

Were they still in Shambala, Nate was pretty sure Tenzin would tell him this was punishment for something he’d done in a past life. At this point, he was inclined to agree.

He exchanged a quick glance with Elena and Sully, all putting up their hands but stepping closer together in the same breath.

“I said don’t move!”

From all over the house, they could hear more security converging on their location.

“Remember when we were in Pamplona,” Sully asked over the din.

“Like it was yesterday.”

“Yesterday sounds good,” Elena agreed.

The guard squinted at them. “What are you—?”

“See you yesterday!” Nate shouted, then lunged forward. Behind him, Sully and Elena made for the windows. Before the guard could shout some more, Nate rushed him, ramming his shoulder into his chest and knocking him backwards, out of the room into the hallway, where he crashed into the opposite wall. The man dropped his gun; and Nate his guard.

“Didn’t see that coming, did you?” he asked smugly — only to yelp in alarm when he was tackled to the ground by someone at least twice his size.

“Crap!” was the last thing he managed to say before his head hit the wooden floorboards, with enough force to make him see stars and his vision dull. “Now, fellas—”

A punch, this time to his temple, knocked him out cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing Dishonored fic for so long I've forgotten what it's like when you can just let your characters yell, "ASSHOLE!"


End file.
